


my avalon.

by Gon (pepperedfox)



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperedfox/pseuds/Gon
Summary: And Merlin, who cradled the infant in his arms as he walked through the dark woods, knew all this. Even under the veil of night, he could see the future in those bright eyes and, when the mournful hoot of an owl startled her into crying, he rocked her back and forth with the gentleness of a spring wind."Now, now, Your Majesty," he said. "There’s no need for such a fuss. Let me tell you of the king’s tale…"





	my avalon.

The future king was so small that, in the crook of Merlin’s arm, her downy head fitted snugly against his elbow. For all the noise she made in her coming, she was curiously quiet and still. Were it not for her wide, green eyes brimming with light, one could easily assume she was ill.

There would be no celebration to welcome her into this world. The halls of Pendragon Castle would remain dark and somber, reflecting the grief of a father who couldn’t stand to even look at his child. With her parents denying her existence and the people unaware, the newly born babe was closer to the dead than the mighty legend she was to inherit.

And Merlin, who cradled the infant in his arms as he walked through the dark woods, knew all this. Even under the veil of night, he could see the future in those bright eyes and, when the mournful hoot of an owl startled her into crying, he rocked her back and forth with the gentleness of a spring wind.

“Now, now, Your Majesty,” he said. “There’s no need for such a fuss. Let me tell you of the king’s tale…”

Long into the night he spoke, until the girl at last fell asleep.

* * *

 

There’d been no one to name Merlin at his birth. A half-demon child was an ill omen and his mother was quick to send him away. He remained a nameless creature with a human shape in his childhood until he learned to truly See the world and plucked his name from a legend yet to be created.

So he called the king Arturia at every opportunity, knowing that a name truly made one human. When she cried for milk, he murmured it gently and when she cried out in fear, he sang it softly. Though lost to the world, she would at least have a name to grow into. Merlin would make sure of it.

They traveled on dirt paths beaten down by hooves and wagons, worn by human industry and war. They traveled on paths thick with the perfume of flowers and magic, comprised of impossibly thin vines woven together. When it rained, Merlin wrapped Arturia under his cloak and the girl, comforted by the scent of her inhuman caretaker, pressed her small cheek against his chest and he could feel her calm at the rhythm of his heart.

Many would say the heir to the throne should be raised among their future vassals in the safety of a castle. A royal's upbringing distinguished them from the rabble. Blood alone only made half a king. And what did a court wizard such as Merlin know about the raising of a king, much less a human child?

“It’s not the way of the fairies to meddle directly in human affairs,” he said to Arturia. The rainfall outside the cave roared, but the babe stirred in his lap. Though he knew she didn’t understand him, he took comfort in seeing her turn towards his voice. “After all, we’d only cause trouble even if it wasn’t our intention. It’s impossible to create an understanding between our races. The world of humans and the world of magic – maybe it’s best to keep them separate. But here you are with me, Arturia. I wonder how you’ll feel once you’re grown? What will these memories be to you?”

Merlin stroked her soft head, marveling at how fine her hair was. Silently, Arturia reached up.  Her hand was too small to curl around his finger’s full width, her strength too weak to do anything more than to lightly squeeze his finger’s tip. Human children naturally wanted to explore their surroundings. This was nothing unusual. Yet, a painful fire was stoked in Merlin’s heart. In that moment he considered abandoning the prophecy altogether, to take this girl far from the trappings of her destiny and permit her the chance to become an ordinary existence for mankind to forget. He could conceal her identity and Arturia could live on a small farm, beloved by a kind family with Merlin watching over her happiness—

“To think a tiny thing like you could move me so.” He spoke his thoughts aloud, for the act of naming granted power over the named. Acknowledging this fire allowed him the power to banish it. He wanted to believe that, as he was a man in blood only. His right to humanity was forfeit the moment he could See his own true name. So it was with Arturia Pendragon, a king touched by fate who would never be a child.

Merlin swayed the finger she held to and fro, careful not to break her fragile hold. He sang a wordless lullaby over the storm, a song pulled from hazy memories of being rocked by a mother whose face he could no longer remember. In the cave, his voice echoed back like an antiphony while the rain drummed an accompanying rhythm. Not once through the song did Arturia let go. Seeing that made him smile.

Hopelessly, foolishly, he wanted her to remember this short-lived farce as proof of having been something human.

* * *

 

Years were nothing to the fairies but everything to a human. Five years for Merlin felt like a mere week. For Arturia, it marked the end to their journey.

Each call of “Arturia” was met by a peevish response of “Merlin.” She used his name as much as he used hers and, having mastered horseplay, scampered alongside him with endless questions on her tongue’s tip. Her golden hair was kept in a boyish cut, something she insisted on after seeing how many things fell into Merlin’s locks. No tree, rock, or river deterred her nimble feet and Merlin, amused by her vibrant curiosity, let her run. She did, after all, still have time to remain herself.

The sign came on a summer’s afternoon, the air wet with the promise of rain. Merlin heard her scream first. How he found her he couldn’t remember. Locating her should have been easy, but the incantations were swollen by panic and he could only spit bits and pieces out. Over and over again he bit his tongue in his futile efforts, even as Arturia swung into sight.

She was alive, with no sign of a curse or dark magic. Merlin breathed a little easier.

“Arturia, are you hurt?”

“No.”

But she looked at her leg, the flesh bruised and swollen. When he crouched, he saw that her cheeks were wet with tears. A glance up told him the cause: a broken tree branch.

“We don’t need to look at something so ugly. Not right now.” From the ground, Merlin plucked a newly bloomed flower and twirled it by the stem. To his relief, Arturia looked up. “And a truly wise king knows when to say he’s hurting.”

“I want to look.”

The flower stilled. Arturia, trembling, matched his stare. The light in her eyes was still there – harsher but as bright as it’d been at her birth.

“Because a king looks after everything,” she said, “pretty and ugly.”

Those were the words of a budding monarch, not of a rambunctious little girl. That was how it should be. Even though she’d never suffered such pain, the chains of her future throne kept her head aloft. In that moment he understood Arturia was prepared to temper her light into king’s gold while he, a fool playing house, longed to keep her soft.

It would be right for her mother to kiss away her tears.

It would be right for her father to rub her back to comfort her.

But Merlin was never her guardian to begin with – only a court magician who spoke in riddles and assigned to watch the threads of fate weave their inescapable web.

So he smiled. He squeezed her shoulder, said, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and raised his hand over her broken leg.

* * *

 

Deep in a magic-induced sleep, Arturia remained quiet as Merlin carried her through the forest. Her leg was perfectly mended, no scar or scab blemishing the skin. He held her the way he wished his mother had, with the nervous love and attention of someone who’d been denied them. She was too big to fit against his arm now but he carried her without complaint, as he had when he bore her away from Castle Pendragon not so long ago.

A king must read the hearts of his people and Merlin, a vagrant straddling the boundary, never was part of the masses Arturia was to save. When he Saw the dragons in the earth they Saw him, too, and the darkness in their slit gaze promised Merlin a prophet’s curse – to See all and touch none.

There was nothing in his heart for Arturia to learn from. Even his act as a caretaker was simply a prisoner describing the world according to shadows cast against the wall. No fire he nourished could compare to the stars of her destiny.

He must pass on the future king.

Sir Ector was waiting for them. The years were unkind to him and their trials weathered what was once a fresh and eager face. The naivety was beaten from him long ago but a flicker of wonder flashed through those tired eyes at the sight of Arturia.

“My word, she’s as small as a bird.”

“And as noisy as one too,” Merlin said. “She’ll wake up in the morning with no memory of me. Tell her whatever tale you wish. From here on out she’ll be yours.”

Merlin set her in Ector’s arms. She continued to dream with a smile on her face, as peaceful as the moon high above. If the heavens were kind,  she would have many more calm nights before claiming her birthright.

“Merlin.”

“Hmm?”

“I will raise her as my own  but I must ask. How did you come by her? For an orphan she is remarkably well-cared for.” Ector hesitated. “She has the look of nobility about her.”

Ah, he was as sharp as ever. Merlin smiled. “The Folk are capricious and secretive in their ways. You know this from your time in court with me. Rest assured, all will be revealed when she comes of age.”

“Strange as ever. But you’ve always held His Majesty’s interests at heart, aye. I cannot deny your loyalty to Britannia. This little one will want for nothing, I promise you.”

This was the sort of father Arturia needed: an honorable man capable of falling in love at first sight in spite of his ignorance of her heritage. Under Sir Ector, she would enjoy a fleeting innocence Merlin was denied and he, granted distance, could at last douse his fantasies of a “family.”

For the last time, Merlin stroked back Arturia’s hair. Watched her with a softness he was wrong to wield and murmured, “I look forward to hearing your story…”

_My king._

_My daughter._

**Author's Note:**

> there was a five year gap between merlin taking arturia from castle pendragon and sir ector adopting her... that led me to wonder what happened during those years and whether merlin had a taste of human happiness. was he able to find a bit of the humanity he wanted in her? is that why he finds himself so moved by her very character? maybe she was the family he wished he could've had.


End file.
